Holding It In
by Lancinate
Summary: Steve's the one who broke off the weird arrangement he had with Tony. But that doesn't mean he doesn't still want him more than anything. And, well, that's the problem. This is a sequel to Trying It Out: /s/9029752/1/Trying-It-Out


Steve lies awake most nights. It's nothing new. He's used to tossing, and turning, and getting right to the brink of sleep before he gets yanked away from it by some new thought. But tonight, it's different. Or, it's the same, but the motivation is different. Tonight he's trying so hard not to dwell on the way that Tony didn't even respond to his text. That the one person he can always count on to argue with him didn't even try.

He doesn't want Tony to persuade him to change his mind. He knows he made the right decision. It just would have been nice if Tony had tried. If he'd even cared.

And he knew it was a mistake from the very first second, he knew it and he kept going back anyway. Kept telling himself that he was just trying to be helpful, just trying to protect Tony. Because if it wasn't him, it was going to be some random guy Tony met on the internet.

He should never have done it. Even forgetting that Tony wasn't looking for someone to fall for him. Even forgetting that he should have known he couldn't keep his feelings in check. Even without all of that, there was the little problem that they're teammates, at best, and at worst Steve's in charge and supposed to know better.

He should have known better.

And he should have known better than to violate the unspoken rules of their agreement. He may not have done anything like this before but he's heard things, he knows how it's supposed to go. How there are certain expectations. Tony can have any woman he wants. He doesn't need this.

He needs to talk to Tony. He needs to tell him that kissing him was just a strange reaction to stress. That he didn't really have any sort of personal stake in what they were doing. That he just thinks they should end it because it's unprofessional.

Yeah. He should do that.

"Jarvis?" He'll never get used to talking to the ceiling. "Is Tony awake?"

"Sir is not in. Would you like me to relay a message?"

"No, thank you."

Tony's out. That's a surprise. He usually brings his little floozies back home with him. He usually uses it as a selling point, as though anybody who would like Tony more because he's rich could be worth his time.

And maybe it's just a coincidence, but Steve's fairly certain that Tony's not usually out this late. Because when it's late, and he gets lonely and can't sleep, he sometimes asks Jarvis what everyone else is doing.

It's comforting, to know that Bruce and Clint and Natasha are sleeping, and Thor is watching television, and Tony is in his lab or drinking or 'otherwise occupied'.

Tony's rarely out this late.

Steve closes his eyes, and rolls over, and thinks that he shouldn't know that. He should forget about it.

He wonders if Tony's already meeting one of those anonymous people. If he's already been replaced.

He shouldn't mind that. But he does.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Where is he?"

"I am not at liberty to disclose."

"He's with that man, isn't he." Steve rolls over again, fists tightening around the blanket. It's not a question, and Jarvis doesn't answer it.

He doesn't know much. All he knows is that conversation that he read, and he only read part of it. He knows enough. He knows that he doesn't like what they were discussing, doesn't like that man, and doesn't like that Tony would risk his reputation and probably his health for something so stupid.

And Steve doesn't like how he himself was willing to risk destroying the team and his so tenuous friendship with Tony and his reputation and his self respect for something so stupid, but at least he'd thought he had good reasons.

Except that deep down, he'd always known he didn't. For all that he could claim it was to save Tony from making a stupid decision, it wasn't about that. It was about Steve, not understanding how those things worked. It was about him thinking that even that pathetic chance to be close to Tony was worth it, it was about him hoping that maybe it might turn into something more.

He cringes to think about how he must have looked. Hanging around afterward, hoping that Tony would say something or do something. He must have been so obvious. He tries not to think about it, tries not to let his chest seize with embarrassment. They could give him all the muscle building serums in the world, but they'd never take the awkward, lost sickly little kid out of him.

Tony was probably just trying to find out how many times he could get Steve on his knees. He probably laughed about it afterward.

He doesn't want to believe that Tony would do that. He doesn't want to believe that Tony would laugh at him, because he likes to think that they're friends, and he wants to think that Tony's as perfect as Steve keeps wanting him to be, but he's spent enough time in Tony's presence to know that's probably not how it is.

Tony can be kind of a bully, sometimes.

It's one of those nights where the only reason he knows he slept is that he glances at the clock when it's 4am, and the next thing he knows, it's 8.

He wants to go back to sleep, but he's not tired, and he has a meeting at 10 to discuss "what we're up against," his words, and he feels guilty that he spent half the night obsessing over Tony when there were real, important things that could have been distracting him from his sleep instead.

It's kind of funny, really, that his life's gotten to a point where an attack on New York seems like just another day, and being attracted to someone who doesn't want him back feels like the most terrifying thing that's ever happened to him.

*****

Tony doesn't show up, and Steve's torn between relief and disappointment. He wants to see him, because he always wants to see him. But there's this feeling Steve gets around Tony, this dull hollow ache in his gut, and he's not sure he can handle that. Feeling guilty about it when he's alone is bad enough.

"Sorry," Tony says, not sounding sorry, waltzing into the meeting an hour late, just as they're wrapping up."Late night. Catch me up?"

Steve shoots him a disapproving look but Tony's not looking at him. And Steve tries not to let the disappointment flood through him, but it's hard. It's harder than he thought it would be. And it's ridiculous, because he's the one who called it off. Well, if there'd really been anything to call off.

"Uh, ya gonna fill me in, Cap?"

Steve looks up, and he blinks. And then he outlines the plan, going into as much detail as possible, as though he's daring Tony to find fault. Not that he needs to. Tony can find fault with everything, always.

"So," he says, looking at Tony with the blank, unaffected face that he's practiced so long, steeling himself for confrontation. "What do you think?"

"Yeah," Tony says. "I like it."

And Steve blinks, and then nods, trying to pretend like everything is normal. "Okay, great," he says. "Then I think we're done."

He looks at Tony, expecting him to say something, anything, but he doesn't. He just pulls his sunglasses back down on his face, and takes a sip of coffee, and checks his phone.

Steve follows him out of the room, waiting until they're at a safe distance from everyone else to get his attention.

"What was that?"

Tony looks at him like he's psychotic, and then he wrenches his bicep out of Steve's hand. "You were right. So I agreed with you."

"That's never stopped you from being an ass before."

Tony shrugs. "Figured I'd try respecting you as a leader. It went better than I expected. Still don't respect you as a person, but, hey, ya know, baby steps."

He winks and pats Steve condescendingly on the arm and then walks away, and Steve's so tempted to grab him by the shoulder and make him have a real conversation, to explain what the heck just happened. But he remembers what he did last time and he's filled with that same deep seated longing, that same soft burn in his stomach, and he's paralyzed by shame.

He just watches Tony walk away.

And he watches one day bleed into the next and into the next, and he keeps wondering how his life would be, if he'd never let himself think that maybe Tony Stark was an option.

He tries to move on, he really does, but it's hard. It's hard when he's worried about Tony, worried that he's the only person who knows to be worried. It's hard when he feels this immense need to look out for him.

Tony's out late more often than not. It's not that Steve's asking to keep an eye on Tony. It's just that it so happens that if he asks, he gets to keep an eye on Tony.

It's definitely that Steve's only asking to keep an eye on Tony.

But he has good reason. Someone needs to know what Tony's up to. It shouldn't be Steve, not with what happened between them, but it's better him than nobody.

It's worrying, really, that Tony's taking so many risks. Steve's not stupid. He knows what it'll mean for Tony's life if a newspaper gets wind of it. And he's not exactly comfortable with the number of people who'd love to hurt Tony, get him in a vulnerable position, get him distracted and –

Steve can't think about that. He can't. He needs to sleep and forget everything. He needs to leave Tony alone. It's Tony's life, he needs to let Tony make bad decisions if he wants to. He needs to not get involved.

He needs to get involved.

*****

He goes through the most formal route possible, schedules an official meeting, one where Tony has to come to him, because he doesn't want to make it look like he has a personal investment. And, he's not kidding anyone, he knows he has a personal investment and Tony does too, but that doesn't change the fact that it's irresponsible and dangerous, what Tony's doing.

He waits for Tony to sit down and then he closes the door, takes a seat across from him. It's uncomfortable, being alone in a room with him.

Tony steeples his fingers and leans backward. "So, Captain, to what do I owe this little meeting?"

"I wanted to have a conversation with you," Steve says, and Tony smirks.

"I am remarkably easy to reach via telephone," he says, leaning back even further, putting an arm around the chair next to him.

"This isn't a social visit," Steve says. "We're not talking as friends here, we're talking as Avengers."

"Wasn't strictly aware that we were friends, but sure." Steve doesn't rise to the bait. "What is it that Avengers Steve feel is so important to tell Avengers Tony?"

Steve swallows. "I don't want you seeing that guy."

Tony cocks his head and smirks. "I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific than that."

Steve swallows again. "I don't want you to have 'anonymous sex' with men that you find on the internet."

Tony raises an eyebrow. "And you think you have any control over what I do with my spare time because...?"

"Because if you get murdered in some alley, that's on me."

"Uh, no, that's on me," Tony says, affably, and Steve's half convinced he's about to prop his feet up on the table. "You're only in charge because Fury doesn't like me. I will take all of the blame for my tragic murder, thank you very much. Or, well, I'll share it with the guy who murders me. If they find him."

"You might not take your life seriously, but I do."

"Gee, thanks, Cap," Tony says with a sideways smile, batting his eyelashes, taking the time and effort to lean forward and reach across the table so he can touch Steve lightly on the forearm. "It's good to know that I have such a big strong man to protect me."

Steve exhales a little too forcefully. Tony's getting to him. "You shouldn't take stupid risks."

"There's no risk. I'm Iron Man."

"Not in some seedy motel room you're not."

"Making a lot of assumptions there, aren't ya, Cap."

"I know things," Steve says, staring past Tony because it's so hard to look at him. "I know you think I'm some old fashioned joke, but people had sex in the 40s too."

"But you didn't have sex in the 40s, did you?"

Steve can feel the tips of his ears getting hot. "This isn't about me."

"Really?" Tony says. "I think it is. I think you're jealous."

Steve doesn't look at him, can't look at him. He should have known Tony would pull that. Should have known Tony would use Steve's feelings against him. Because all Tony cares about is getting to do whatever he wants. He doesn't care how that makes anyone feel. And Steve feels like an idiot for not realizing this before.

And he feels like an idiot because even realizing it doesn't do anything to mitigate how much he cares about him.

"Struck a nerve?"

Steve stands up, an almost involuntary side effect of shoving the table towards the floor as hard as he can. "I said my part," he says, back already turned. "If you can't see why what you're doing is a problem, that's on you."

"Steve?" Tony's voice is softer, a little more serious, and even though Steve already has the door open, he turns around.

"Yes?"

"You know, Jarvis tells me when you check up on me."

His tone is light, conversational, like he's expecting that to lead into something. But Steve just leaves before Tony can see the blush spread across his cheeks, before Tony can find more ways to humiliate him.

He'd thought it was okay. He'd thought that their weird run in at the meeting all those weeks ago was a good sign. He thought that the way Tony'd been keeping his distance was just a coincidence.

He'd thought a lot of things and he hates thinking that they're not true. But especially he hates the thought of Tony sitting in his lab, laughing derisively as Jarvis tells him that Steve's thinking about him again

********

He gets over it, in the days after, he lets things blow over and lets himself assume the best again and then everything is fine. Except, he reasons, as he tries to punch the pillow into something that can cushion the tremendous weight of his ruminations, if he has to tell himself that everything is fine, then he's lying.

But that's okay. He doesn't have to be fine. He just needs to be good enough that he can leave Tony the hell alone.

And he can't. He keeps making excuses to be around him, keeps coming up with reasons that they have to work together, because he wants them to be friends, and he knows that most of friendship is proximity.

But it's so hard to be around him.

He thinks he could get over it, could spend time with him and not feel like he's slowly being suffocated if it weren't for Tony's eyes. He's not talking about the way they look, warm and brown and intense. He notices that, of course he does, and he loves the way they look but that's not a problem. It's just a fact.

It's the way that they follow him around that's the problem. Like they're always watching him, waiting to catch him looking, waiting for him to mess up again. One day when they're changing in the gym he even turns around to find them trained on his boxer briefs, as though Steve's so depraved that he's going to get an erection just from the view of Tony's sweaty chest. And sure, Tony gets a little flustered when Steve notices, but that doesn't change the fact that he'd bothered to watch at all.

It's hard because Steve's trying so hard to forget about what happened between them, to forget about what a fool he made of himself, and Tony seems bent on reminding him.

He should just stop spending time with him. He knows he should, but he doesn't. So he has to put up with Tony's little asides and jabs, he has to pretend not to notice when Tony makes jokingly suggestive comments. He feels like he should call him out on it, see if Tony has the guts to look him right in the eye and mock him, but there's a part of him that doesn't feel comfortable with the attention that's going to put on his sexual preference.

So he doesn't say anything. Not about that, anyway. He lets the frustration out in other ways, lets himself take digs at Tony as well. But if anything, it just makes Tony friendlier when Steve criticizes him. It makes Tony treat him better. So he keeps doing it, and he keeps getting invited to spend time with Tony, and that's not something he'll say no to.

And that's how he finds himself in the living room with Tony on a night when Tony's had a few too many drinks, and then a few more.

It's nice, companionable for a while, because Tony's more relaxed when he's drunk, and his mind isn't going a million miles a minute and he's willing to just sit down and talk.

"You never let me return the favor," Tony says, out of nowhere, slurring a little.

"Pardon?" Steve always finds it oddly endearing when Tony gets incoherent.

"I never sucked your dick," Tony says, and suddenly it's not so endearing anymore.

Steve shrugs.

"Did you want me to?"

"Did you want to?"

"No," Tony says, leaning back against the cushions. "I'm not answering that question. You answer my question."

Steve's not about to do that, though. He's not about to admit that.

"If you don't answer me, I'm not going to suck your dick," Tony says.

"That's fine."

"You want me to," Tony says, with a little smile.

"Let's not talk about this," Steve says, and he's so uncomfortable that he almost just gets up and leaves.

He doesn't though, and Tony falls silent, tracing the rim of his glass, frowning into the liquid.

And then he looks at Steve. "You should fuck me."

Steve gapes at him, hopes that if he doesn't say anything, it'll blow over. But Tony just looks at him expectantly, eyes wide and bright and slightly out of focus.

"That's not happening."

"Oh, come on," Tony says, leaning forward, a little smirk playing on his lips. "Just fuck me. I know you want to. I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime here, buddy."

"You're drunk," Steve says, pretending to take the offer at face value because he's been on the receiving end of this long enough to know that Tony's just looking for a reaction. "You can't give consent."

Tony blinks at him. "How do you you even know that?"

"I'm leaving," Steve says, makes a show of turning off his phone. And he pauses at the door. "And please, just leave me alone."

*******

It's something he's been tossing around in his head for a little while, moving out. It's not running away, not really. A good strategist knows when it's time to retreat.

It's just taking a break. He needs a break.

He knows it wouldn't hurt so much, that he'd be able to handle it, if Tony weren't picking at fresh wounds. He knows they're only so fresh because he has to witness Tony's magnanimity and wit and warmth all of the time. If he left, he'd be able to forget about that. It wouldn't be hard. All he'd have to do is go on the internet and read some stories about him and remember all of the bad things.

Of course, moving out isn't his only option. He could always talk to Tony and ask him to lay off.

Moving out is definitely his only option.

It's still a difficult decision, though. He loves living with the Avengers, and he doesn't want to seem ungrateful for everything he's been given. He just can't handle the way things are, right now.

The mistake he makes is telling Tony about it first.

He swallows, walks into the room with his hands in his pockets, bad posture, a little bit because he's trying to look unintimidating and a little bit because he's feeling awfully unintimidating.

Tony looks up the second he walks in, this strange look on his face, which makes sense because the last time Steve was in here Tony'd had his pants down and Steve's mough had been somewhere that was awfully inappropriate. And then he just turns back to his monitor.

"Hey," Steve says, leaning against a table, waiting for Tony to turn around. He doesn't.

"I uh, I just wanted to stop by and tell you that I'm going to move out." Tony still doesn't turn around, but he stops moving and that's a sign, Steve thinks, of something.

"Any particular reason?"

"I think you know the reason."

"Well," Tony says, glancing over for half a second, "I don't."

Steve sighs. He doesn't want to do this, not because he doesn't like saying what he feels is right, but because he knows Tony won't like him for calling him out on it.

"I can't live with you," Steve says. "Not the way you treat me."

Tony swivels all the way around, one eyebrow raised, and says nothing.

"Yes, I'm a queer," he says, not expecting it to be so hard to say, not after the things he's done, but it is. He takes a deep breath. "And I wish I wasn't, but I am. But that doesn't mean you can treat me like I'm not just as good as you because of it."

Tony's eyes are wide, but he still doesn't say anything.

"I thought you were better than that," Steve adds, letting all the disappointment he feels about Tony take things a little further than he'd originally intended. "I guess not."

There's a pause as Tony looks him up and down, eyebrows quirking as though he's not sure how to respond. "Whoa there, back up a bit?"

"Don't pretend that you haven't been mocking me."

"I would never do that. I mean, you could kill me with like, one punch."

"I didn't come here for excuses," Steve says. "It's okay, it's your house, I shouldn't be here if you don't want me here."

"Okay," Tony says, "right, so let's cut the self pity. I haven't been mocking you, and I really, really don't care that you're gay."

Steve just looks at him.

"Look, I'll stop coming on to you, you stop getting offended by stupid things, and we can put this behind us. Okay?"

Tony swivels back around, end of conversation, but Steve's not ready for it to be over.

"Coming on to me?"

Tony turns back. "Yeah. Uh, hitting on you? I dunno. I have no idea what they called it back in your day."

"No, I – I know what it means."

"Well," Tony says, "then yes. I was."

"Oh." Steve can feel himself getting a little red. "Really?"

"Really," Tony says, expression blank. "Is that something you're... interested in?"

Steve takes a deep breath, and nods, all the while aware that maybe this is just another game. "Yeah." He pauses, waiting for a negative reaction, but it doesn't happen. "I mean, if you are."

Tony gives him an appraising look and stands slowly, takes the few steps to close the space between them. "I might be."

"Okay," Steve says, pretending that he's not having any trouble breathing. "Great. So, well, if that's settled..."

"So, you want to fuck me?"

And Steve chokes a bit. "Right now?"

"Look, I want this, you want this," Tony says, running a hand along Steve's chest. "Why wait?"

Steve looks at him, looks into those soft brown eyes and can barely think of anything else. Tony's so close that it's dizzying.

"Fuck me," he says. "Bend me over that table and take me. God, Steve, you're all I've been able to think about."

Steve just looks at him, painfully aware of how close he is. Painfully, so painfully aware of how much he wants to kiss him, of how much he needs to feel Tony's skin against his. He looks at him, and he doesn't do anything but stare as practiced hands unbuckle his belt, and unbutton his pants, and pull down his zipper.

And then Tony Stark sinks to his knees, and Steve still doesn't do anything, can't do anything, because it's everything he ever wanted, and it's nothing like how he imagined.

He should be stopping it. But he doesn't want to.

He hears himself moan and that's how he fully registers the fact that Tony's mouth is on him, that's how he gets wrenched away from his thoughts and just feels. His knees buckle and he has to put a hand on the table behind him to steady himself, he gasps for breath as he feels Tony's mouth warm and wet and good, so good.

Tony stands up, his lips wet, and looks Steve straight in the eyes. "This is definitely happening, right? You're not going to change your mind at the last minute?"

"I- uh, no," Steve stammers, thrown by the sudden need to think. "I won't."

Tony smiles. "Great. Then you'll need this," he says, and he walks over to a lab bench and pulls out an unmarked bottle.

"What's that?"

"Lube. You put it on your dick, since my ass isn't going to lubricate itself."

Steve looks at it. "Are you sure this was meant for human use?"

"Yes, Christ," Tony says, rolling his eyes, pulling off his pants and underwear in one fluid motion. "Now bend me over this table and fuck me."

Tony doesn't move, and slowly it dawns on Steve that he actually wants Steve to move him. "Can't you just... get in position by yourself?"

Tony rolls his eyes again, pouts a little. "Well, obviously, I could. But I want you to. C'mon baby, do what you want with me. Let me have it."

Steve freezes at the word. He's not sure why. Or, he's just not sure why he lets his reaction spread across his face, lets Tony see.

"Shit, I didn't mean it like that," Tony says. "It's just a – a thing that you say. I won't –"

"No, I – it's okay," Steve says, when what he means is please, please keep calling him that. "So what do you want me to do?"

"I dunno, grab me, throw me around a little. Not like bdsm shit," Tony says, shrugging, and Steve's probably imagining it, but he seems to be turning a little red. "Unless you're into that."

"I don't even know what that means," Steve admits, and it's so surreal, the fact that they're just kind of standing there without pants, discussing how things are supposed to go. He's pretty sure this, the awkward negotiating, isn't how it's supposed to be going. He's pretty sure he messed this one up.

Tony just laughs. "Great."

"So you just want me to –" he grabs Tony by the hips, pulls Tony's body against his so that there's an audible sound of them coming together, so that Tony kind of gasps a little – "like this."

"Yeah," Tony says, pants, looking into his eyes, eyelashes clinging together in little brown peaks.

God, he wants him more than anything else in his life and it's crazy and stupid and he knows it, but that doesn't stop Steve from spinning Tony around and shoving him – gently, though he's hoping not too gently – against the table, forcing him to arch his back and spread his legs.

"Mm, fuck," Tony says. "Exactly like that."

He looks at Tony, and he looks at the curve of his back and wants the tank top off, now, but he'll settle for shoving it toward Tony's shoulders, so that he can see the smooth bare skin, and he runs a hand along Tony's side and feels him shiver and he's stalling, just a little bit, because he has no idea what to do next.

Or, he has an idea. He's just not sure on the specifics. It's not a large opening, it's not even a small opening, it's practically nonexistent. And he knows it'll get bigger, but he's not sure how much or how fast, and looking at the size of his penis against the size of that hole he's not sure that forcing it won't be a bad idea.

But Tony seems to know what he's doing so Steve trusts that he's thought of this, and he lines himself up, making sure that he's slick and straight, and if there's any time to have second thoughts it's now, and he thinks that, and he pretends that it's not maybe a good idea, because the way Tony's bent over the table, the way he's offering Steve his ass like it's nothing, the way Steve wants so badly to feel Tony around him, there's no such thing as second thoughts.

So he presses forward, lightly enough, holding himself straight so there won't be any surprises, and Tony jumps a little.

"Fingers," Tony says, gasping in a way that isn't pain, exactly, but definitely surprise. "Fingers first if you don't want to literally tear me open. Which honestly, right now, I'm fine with, but later will probably regret."

Oh. Steve's face is immediately on fire, and he's glad that Tony's not looking at him, because that makes the mistake tolerable instead of the most embarrassing thing he's ever done. By a slight bit. He wishes he'd thought to read about this, back when he was looking at all of those smutty websites. He's probably the only person who hasn't read about this, it's so easy to find all over the internet.

He slides a hand gently over Tony's flesh, dripping lube onto his fingers before trailing them into the crack, and it's so much more intimate than before. He presses against the puckered opening with his index finger, and his cock jumps a little as Tony lets him inside, smooth and slick and warm. "Uhngh, yes, like that," Tony says, forehead resting on his forearm, his voice bouncing off of the table. "Yeah, fuck me with it."

Steve slides his finger in and gently pulls it out, watches as it's sucked in again.

"God, fuck, Steve, faster, Jesus."

He laughs a little at Tony's impatience, puts a hand on his lower back as though to calm him, but really just because he wants to be touching him, he wants to feel Tony underneath him. But he does speed up, and then he slides another finger in, feels Tony stretch to let it in and marvels at how Tony's ever going to fit him in there, marvels at how tight it's going to be.

Steve barely fits a third finger in before Tony says, "Okay, yeah, that's enough. Except don't just shove it in because that's probably not enough."

Steve pauses, and then he slides his fingers back in, because he's not going to mess this up, he's going to do this right. It has to be perfect.

Tony bucks back against him. "Just fuck me already."

So he pulls his fingers out, runs his hands over Tony's hips and looks down at him and feels amazing, that Tony's trusting him so much, that they're about to do something that's so –

There aren't words, really, there's just this feeling, this glowing feeling so that as he presses in he gasps more out of some involuntary emotional outpouring than from the sensation.

Tony gasps too, except that his gasp isn't as positive. Steve stops himself, pulls out even though every instinct in his body is telling him to go deeper.

"You're fine, you're great," Tony says, sounding just a little bit strained. "I can take it."

Steve's still not sure he trusts him, but he's also not sure he can wait until he does, so he presses in more slowly this time, feels Tony spread open for him, feels Tony open his legs even wider and sees him rest his head on his forearm, feels him tremble just a little as Steve presses in. He doesn't force himself, because he's afraid of what would happen if he underestimated his strength. But Tony presses back, forcing him deeper until there's nowhere left to go, until his upper thighs are pressed against Tony's skin, until they're fitted together perfectly.

"Fuck, you're so big," Tony groans, the hand under his head clenching into a fist.

Steve feels like he should apologize, but he doubts Tony actually wants him to. He just runs a soothing hand along Tony's back, waits for him to catch his breath. Thinks about telling him how great he is, but he doesn't think Tony will want to hear that either.

"Move," Tony says, finally, and Steve does, he slides slowly out and back in, holding back so that Tony can get used to it, keeping an excruciatingly slow pace, trying not to grip Tony's hips too hard in compensation.

"Come on, faster," Tony says, pushing back against him. "I'm not gonna break."

So he lets himself go, lets his hips move at their own pace, pressing deep and insistent into Tony, and it feels good, it's feels so good, and he realizes that it's maybe a little too good.

Every thrust, every time Tony moans, every movement of Tony's arched back and curved hips as Steve pounds into him is quickly getting him close, too close. And he loves the way Tony looks stretched out underneath him, but he doesn't want it to end like that. He wants more than that.

He pulls out, takes a last lingering look at the curve of his ass, and gently squeezes one hip.

"On your back," he says, and Tony complies wordlessly, clambering onto the lab table and bending his knees, offering himself up.

Steve slides a finger in to open him up again, and is surprised to find that he doesn't need to, that he's completely open, such that it takes two fingers all the way in before he can even feel any resistance.

He doesn't stop, though, he uses it as an excuse to give himself a little break, so that it's not going to be over right away. He slides another finger in, eyes fixated on Tony's hand as it lazily slides along the length of his shaft. And then he puts his other hand over Tony's, gently tugs it off and interlaces their fingers, so he can use his tongue to pick up where Tony's hand left off.

And because even though Tony's given him almost everything, Steve still just really wants to hold his hand.

"Unngh, fuck," Tony moans, squeezing Steve's hand and resting his legs on Steve's back, threading his other hand through Steve's hair.

And Steve spreads his fingers to see how open Tony can get for him, moaning like the breath's been punched out of him. It feels so right, being intertwined with Tony like this.

But it feels even better to know that Tony's letting Steve inside of him, and so he stands up, still holding fast to Tony's hand, and lines himself up, Tony's ankles on his shoulders. He thrusts roughly into him, all the way in with one motion, and he loves the way that he can see the pleasure register on Tony's face, watch his chest rise and fall with each ragged breath.

"Oh, god," Tony breathes, stroking himself with his other hand. "Oh, fuck."

Steve runs a hand along the side of Tony's stomach, forcing the thin cloth of his tank top up over his arc reactor. And he runs two fingers gently along the side of the warm metal.

"I – I'm not going to last much longer."

Tony doesn't answer, he just moans and closes his eyes, tossing his head back and stroking himself faster, which Steve takes as permission to keep going.

He lasts longer than he expected, which amounts to maybe another minute. And he grips Tony's hips and sees white as he comes, his hips jerking into Tony almost without his control, riding it out, and he feels so overwhelmed, so wrecked and helpless to the intoxicating sensation of Tony's muscles clenched around him.

He keeps thrusting even when it becomes painful, determined not to end things too early. And it's worth it, it's so worth it, when Tony comes seconds later, his stomach muscles spasming, his head tipped back and mouth open in ecstasy, semen spurting onto his chest and stomach, streaking across the arc reactor.

Only then does Steve pull out, takes a step away to catch his breath. He feels so satisfied, so complete, and it's amazing, it's wonderful, it's everything he ever wanted.

"Fuck that was good," Tony says, breathing heavily, pulling himself into a seated position. And he wipes the semen off of his stomach with the back of his hand, then tugs his tank top back down, and shoots Steve a satisfied grin.

And he's right, he's completely right, but the way he's saying it it's like they just both watched an amazing movie and now he's sharing his opinion. Like it's something that they both just had happen to them, not this mind blowingly special thing that they shared.

That's harsh, and presumptive, he knows. And he gives Tony a chance, he sits down next to him so that they can – well, he doesn't actually know what they're supposed to do after sex, but he just really wants to hold him, and kiss him, and look into his eyes and acknowledge this amazing thing that they just did. Even if Tony doesn't see it that way.

And Tony, well, he lets out a big, satisfied breath, and he pats Steve on the thigh. And then he stands up, and stretches.

And Steve just watches as he walks around the room, watches as Tony meanders toward his pants, and then he can't take it any more. He just wants to be acknowledged. To feel like Tony cares about him. He doesn't even care if he actually does. He could pretend. He could at least do that.

"Tony?"

He turns slowly, like it's a chore. "Yeah?"

"Tony, I – I can't do this," he says, biting his lip, because what he's about to say is difficult, and he wants to get it right.

Tony doesn't give him a chance to say it, though. He just laughs this short harsh little laugh.

"Yeah, right, great, because I can't do this either," he says, and ignoring all of Steve's protests, he walks out of the lab.

A week later, Steve moves out.


End file.
